Scenic Overlook
by Prisoner 849
Summary: It's about revenge. The taste of metal in your mouth: metal and something indefinably sweet.


_Just something I've been messing around with for a while. English isn't my native language so feel free to point out glaring grammatical errors and such. Just be nice about it 'cause I might cry if you're not._

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Her lips were dry, her tongue felt swollen and caked with ashen dust. _So this is what freedom tastes like_, she mused as lay curled up on the hard ground with her eyes closed. Rust, dirt, and the metallic tang of soot gone peculiar. It wormed it's way inside of her lips, her nose, her throat, and lodged itself somewhere between her trachea and breast bone. Growing, expanding. She could almost _feel_ it as it settled down deep inside her flesh.

Sighing quietly she turned her head, careful to keep her eyes closed. The sobbing beside her increased as she moved but she kept on ignoring it, instead focusing on the odd sounds that surrounded her. Or, rather, what sounds that didn't surround her. There was no whir of electrical fans trying to cycle the air through enough to make it breathable, no buzzing from harsh fluorescent lights, no beeping from computer terminals that had seen better days. Nor any echo of footsteps bouncing between steel walls or the sound of Butch folding and unfolding his switchblade. Instead there was an odd, almost eerie, overflow of noises that mingled with each other and created a sort of low hum. As if someone was constantly blowing in her ear, whispering sweet little nothings that made her skin crawl. Sometimes the low, whispering hum was interrupted by what was probably birds screeching in the distance and something she hoped was even more distant; the hard, unforgiving salvo of rifles being fired. A sound she had taken comfort in when watching all those old movies when growing up, the one good thing that the Overseer had granted them: Movie Thursdays. There was no comfort to glean from the distant noise now, however.

The sobbing next to her increased yet again, turning into a wet, convulsing wheeze and she blindly fumbled with her hand in the self imposed darkness, an unseeing effort to give some sort of comfort. Her fingers only met grainy dirt and delved deep into the powdery dust that covered everything in a fine sheet. She sighed. If she opened her eyes, the nausea would return. That feeling deep down in her stomach would hit her like a ton of bricks, and that topsy-turvy sensation of being unable to keep herself attached to the ground would make the world spin in a very disconcerting way.

Mumbling something that would've made Old Lady Palmer slap her across the back of her head, Alma cracked open an eye. Sunshine filtered through her retina and pain at the sudden flash of bright light spiked through her. Groaning, she blinked repeatedly, tears blurring her already limited vision. Through the bars of her eyelashes she could make out the rocks that littered the outcropping and a rusted up old sign hovering over the edge. If she squinted hard enough, she could probably make out the words of it. Instead, her gaze flickered to the girl sitting a few feet away.

Dark hair, already matted by the thick dust that clung to everything, hung over the girls eyes, concealing her face. As the sobbing continued, the girls body heaved, arms firmly secured around her legs as she held them close to her chest. Alma watched for a moment, unsure if moving was such a good idea since the nausea had returned full force.

"Jas...?"

There was no response.

"Jasmine?"

The sobbing stopped after a few moments but Alma could see that her friend had a hard time not crying. Every breath made her body shudder and Jasmine hid her face by burrowing it between her knees.

"Wh... why'd he do this?" The other girl mumbled, voice broken.

Alma closed her eyes, bringing her hands up to her face as she rolled on to her back. Pain laced through her as she moved. Officer Mack had definitely done some serious damage and probably broken a rib or two with that damn stick of his. She gritted her teeth as she spread her fingers over her eyes like a folding fan, peering through the digits. The sunlight that filtered through was easier to bear this time, it was the complete lack of a ceiling that was so utterly disturbing. There was no tangible end to the sky above and Alma didn't like it one bit. It bore no resemblance to the painting her mother had made for her on her seventh birthday.

The memory of her mother busying herself with painting clouds and blue skies on the ceiling of her bedroom brought a wistful smile to Alma's lips. It vanished just as fast as it had appeared however. When her mother had died, the Overseer hadn't wasted any time pawning off the responsibility of a nine year old Alma on Lucy Palmer. Sighing quietly, she shook her head to get rid of the memories.

"Fuck if I know," she croaked in answer to Jasmine's question, dust still clinging to the roof of her mouth.

The sunlight that managed to seep through her fingers was disturbed by a black spot circling up above and Alma watched it curiously as she gnawed on her lower lip. Tears were beginning to blur her vision and to keep from crying, she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The thought of everything that had gone wrong the last couple of hours bombarding her every senses. When Jasmine had shown up in her quarters, pale as death, blood spattered all over her face and jumpsuit, mumbling something about having killed Officer Kendall, she had hoped it had all been part of an elaborate joke.

When Officer Hannon had shown up, police baton ready in hand, the "joke" had turned sour. Despite her distress, Jasmine had managed to shoot him in the leg while Alma had aimed a well placed blow to his head with her baseball bat. The sickening crunch of wood meeting flesh and bone was still clear in her head and a wave of nausea flooded through her as she thought about it.

After that, pure chaos. They'd managed to save Butch's mother from being eaten alive by radroaches. They'd barely escaped being reduced to ashes by Andy when he fought off several radroaches and Officer Gomez had ushered them out of there. Although Alma had been quick to tell him a few choice words about his employer, he had given her his handgun and warned her about Officer Mack.

Only seconds later she had realized just why he had warned her. Amata's screams as Officer Mack raised his police baton to strike her had made Alma act on pure impulse. The moment she had stepped inside the room, the man had turned and barreled towards her. The gun a cold, grim thing in her hands as her fingers moved against the trigger. The first bullet grazed his cheek, the other one had torn his throat open, blood spattering across the floor as he fell, scrambling to put pressure on the deadly wound.

Jas had dragged Amata out of there, pointing the 10 mm pistol at the Overseer and the three of them had made their way through the deserted halls.

Moments later they stumbled upon Jonas' body and the world had come to a full stop. The scream that had escaped her had almost ripped her vocal chords to shreds and it still felt as if her throat was bruised and torn. The large amount of blood pooling under and around his body had told her everything she had needed to know. Yet she had still fallen to her knees beside him, torn open his shirt, and begun to clumsily administer CPR. Powerless to turn away from the horror of it all she had screamed for help, begged Jasmine to do something, to make everything alright, all the while sobbing uncontrollably. Only the sound of Jonas' ribs snapping underneath the force of her weight had made her stop.

He'd only been twenty years older than her, but he had been the closest thing to a father she had ever had. And it was James' fault he was dead.

As she lay there peering through her fingers, reliving the events that occurred just hours prior, she made a promise to herself. Not only would she help Jas find her father, she'd make sure he understood just how he had ruined her life.

_I'll show him_, she thought._ I'll show him just like I showed Officer Mack._

_

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It might seem as a bit of a stretch that my OC would blame James for Jonas' death, but it was the first thing that entered my mind when I played FO3 the first time. So... yeah._


End file.
